All Chapters of THE DON'S MISSING PIECE : Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

Cassandra couldn't sleep.The note burned in her mind. Ask him what he did. She stared at the ceiling of the guest room, her body still, her mind racing. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Isabella's face—cold, knowing, cruel.She needed answers. She needed the truth.She threw off the covers and padded through the dark hallways, her bare feet silent against the marble. She found Dante in his study, sitting in the dark, staring at the fire. He didn't turn when she entered. He'd known she was coming."Ask me," he said quietly.She closed the door behind her. "What happened the night she left?"---Dante was silent for a long time.Then he spoke. His voice was low, raw. He told her about Isabella—how he'd loved her, trusted her, believed she was the one. He told her about the night he discovered the truth—that Isabella had been feeding information to his enemies, selling his secrets to the highest bidder."I confronted her," he said. "I was consumed by rage. I grabbed her. I shook

Cassandra stared at the words written in blood.Ask him about Alessandro.Her blood ran cold. She knew that name—Elena's lover. The man Vincent killed. The man whose letters had shattered Dante's world.Dante stood beside her, his face pale, his jaw tight. He didn't speak. He just stared at the message, his hands trembling at his sides."Who wrote this?" Cassandra whispered."I don't know." His voice was hollow. "But I'm going to find out."---Dante found Vincent in his study.His father was sitting behind his desk, a glass of whiskey in his hand, his expression calm and composed. As if nothing had happened. As if a woman hadn't been murdered in his home. As if there wasn't blood on the walls.Dante didn't knock. He pushed the door open, his footsteps heavy against the hardwood floor.Vincent looked up. His eyes were cold. Empty."You want to know about Alessandro," he said.It wasn't a question.Dante stopped in front of the desk. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides. His

Cassandra woke before dawn. The room was dark, the curtains drawn against the pale gray light. She lay still for a moment, listening to the sound of Dante's breathing. It was uneven—restless. He tossed beside her, his body tense even in sleep. Every few minutes, a murmur escaped his lips, words she couldn't understand. She turned her head to look at him. His face was drawn, the lines around his eyes deeper than they'd been just days ago. His jaw was clenched, his hands curled into fists against the sheets. He was fighting battles in his sleep—battles he couldn't win. Her heart ached. She slipped out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake him. The floor was cold against her bare feet. She padded to the door, glancing back once. He hadn't moved. --- Jane was already in the kitchen. The young maid looked up wh

Weeks passed. The mansion settled into a new rhythm. The staff no longer moved in fear. The security team relaxed their patrols. The silence that had once felt oppressive now felt peaceful. Vincent was gone. Isabella was gone. Marcus Kane was in prison. For the first time in months, there was no immediate threat. No danger lurking around every corner. Just peace. Cassandra continued her training with Marco. Every morning, she woke before dawn and met him in the gym. She learned how to throw a punch that could break a nose. How to break free from a chokehold. How to use a knife. How to shoot. She was getting stronger. Faster. More confident. Dante watched her with pride—and with worry. He knew the world she was entering. He knew the dangers that came with it. ---The invitation arrived on a Tuesday. Dante

Cassandra stared at the text.You're running out of time.Her blood ran cold. Her hands trembled. She wanted to throw the phone across the room. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry.But she didn't.She deleted the message. She tucked her phone into her pocket. And she forced herself to breathe.Dante had been so happy today. So peaceful. She wasn't going to ruin it. Not yet.---Dante noticed she was distracted.They were sitting in the library, the fire crackling in the hearth. He was reading—or pretending to. She was staring at the same page of her book for the tenth time.He set his book down. "What's wrong?""Nothing." She forced a smile. "Just tired."He studied her face—the tightness around her eyes, the way she wouldn't quite meet his gaze. He didn't believe her. But he didn't push.---They went to bed early.Cassandra lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Dante slept beside her, his arm draped across her waist, his breathing slow and steady. She listened to the rhythm of it—